Don't Call Me That
by smileyanne
Summary: Set during season 3 and 4. Companion piece to You Aren't Him. Not a Jony relationship fic. She'd said he could call her by her first name. So why was she so mad?


_A/N: Don't really know where this came from. It's another little tie-in to You Aren't Him, and remember none of these little one-shot's that take place during the mysterious hiatus of between season 3 and season 4 at headquarters are really Jony relationships so..._

_And about Not Her, I'm not going to go into that right now. So, check my profile for info on that. If anybody just starts berating me for it, and doesn't read this A/N or my thoughts on the bottom part of my profile. I will get extremely angry...fair warning..._

_DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN NCIS._

* * *

Today had started out fairly normal in Anthony DiNozzo's case.

Or at least, the version of messed-up that they'd been calling normal the past few months.

Anyway, he'd made his way into work where a case had immediately been on his desk concerning some money laundering scheme. He'd gotten Ziva, McGee, and Michelle (yes their new 'Probie' was _Michelle Lee_) into the van and on the way to their technical not crime scene just what would be the sight of their impromptu interrogations.

The interrogations nee 'interviews' had gone as well as could be expected, and they'd been able to make their way back to the office within the hour. Since they'd been back, each and every one of them had started doing background checks on suspects. All in all (compared to his past five years on..._his _team, but barring the past month or so) today had actually started out as a boring day in the office.

Now since there was no body-_yet_, and no evidence. Therefore there were no reasons to visit the lab or autopsy quite yet, and for that he was guiltily grateful. Ziva and McGee's snips, insubordination acts, and/or backhanded comments had been so far kept very minimal and on the harmless side. Which had allowed him to overlook them, if they didn't interfere with their case. And he hadn't wanted to risk ruining his tentative good day by visiting Abby or Ducky just quite yet.

God he's slowly turning into a bastard.

It was just that ever since their number one _bastard _ran off into the sunset; Abby's lab and drooping pigtails were enough to want to make a hardcore Marine sit in a corner and cry, and Ducky's autopsy had turned into a place where not even Palmer wanted to be anymore. Because frankly it was scary to think of Ducky with his new attitude, and his free daily access to an assortment of knives and scalpels.

Oh yea; Abby's gone from bubbly lab-rat to depressing Goth, and Ducky's gone from being an elderly gentleman M.E. to a frankly scary smart Brit.

So around noon when both of them came up to the bullpen for lunch, and McGee and Ziva's comments had started to toe the line while Michelle had became just plain _annoying_. He'd ignored his inner struggle of how unfair he was being to everyone, picked up the case file from his desk, and had muttered something about going to Jenny's office before stomping up the stairs.

And all the way up he had tried desperately to concentrate on the raw, aching throbbing in his chest with repressed memories.

And not on the four pairs of eyes glaring daggers at his back.

* * *

Going through the antechamber that served as Cynthia's area, he'd had every intention of walking straight through to the large metallic door's glaring opposite him. It was a habit himself and Cynthia had adopted from the hour period of the work day where everyone else was gone, where Cynthia was on her way out leaving only himself and their redhead Director. He knew the rumors going on about what happened between them during that hour and through to the wee hours of the morning when they were still here, _alone_.

He didn't dispute the rumors either.

Besides, he told himself that it was either they believe him and Jenny were bumping the dirty parts. Or, they learned that during those hours their hard ass Director turned into a hard ass woman and it was the only part of the day where the 'Frog' operation, that he felt he knew less and less about as it went further, came out of the shadows and into a twisted reality while they (or should he say _Jenny_?) planned their-_her_- next move.

Yep, things were _that _messed up.

Anyway, he'd had every intention of going straight to her office doors-regardless if she was busy or not-and knocking. Even though he politely disregarded Cynthia uses now, not knocking was a boundary he never crossed.

Honestly, he was half afraid of Jenny's reaction if he did.

Well, he hadn't had to flirt with danger and the risk of getting keelhauled by Jenny by going to _her_. Because Jenny had come to _him_. Halfway across Cynthia's office, one of her office doors had swung open and Jenny herself had walked out, her head buried in a large case file and her briefcase clutched in her hand. He'd stopped in front of Cynthia's desks, he had needed to debrief her on their case or risk her coming after him later for _him _keeping things from _her_. But she'd looked like she was going somewhere, and he had been kind of sort of hoping to take refuge in her office for the rest of the afternoon.

He'd stayed still in the middle of the office, and she walked straight past him. Never looking up once she had said, "Walk and talk Agent DiNozzo. I have a meeting with SecNav that I'm already late for."

_Again _the decision had been taken out of his hands. So instead of fighting it, he followed half a step behind her, snapping open his own case file without embellishment.

"Got a new case today, laundering possible extortion," he'd rattle off mechanically, instinctively dodging the edge of the doorway as him and Jenny made their way out onto the catwalk.

"International...local...what type of corporation, DiNozzo?" She asked snippily, her head still buried in the humongous case file she was skimming through. He'd glanced over at her then, slightly put off that she'd been so..._bratty _with him, and had been momentarily distracted by the curve of her neck.

Lately he'd started to slightly understand why _he _had spent so much time staring at her.

He just wished he didn't understand why she had spent so much time staring at _him_.

"Agent DiNozzo," she'd said, bringing him back to the present with a sharp reprimand inherent in her tone. He vaguely realized they'd stopped at the top of the stairs, his eyes had snapped back up to hers, and seeing the warning in them he'd brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

"Umm," he'd cleared his throat, "...international." He had started walking again, keeping his eyes back on the case file in his hands, he'd heard her heels clicking on the metallic flooring as they'd started down the steps.

"Any suspects?" She'd questioned briskly, her attention going back to her case file, and he'd felt as if she expected him to stand at attention and rattle off that they should have the perp by the end of the day.

So instead he had said in his best laconic tone, "Nope not yet."

They'd been on the first landing, and glancing up and to the right he could see the team plus Abby and Ducky watching them. But she'd still been paying attention solely to her case file, taking the stairs expertly in her skyscraper heels.

"Well why not?" she snapped.

He brought his attention back to her, they made their way to the last landing in silence as he just stared at her, outraged. When she'd finally noticed that he hadn't answered, they stopped, and she glanced up at him expectantly.

"Jesus Jen, we _just _got the case," he'd barked at her.

Everything had gone south from there.

It was like the world had _freaking ended_.

Silence engulfed the area around them, the meaningless chatter he'd heard from the team had ended, and he'd heard multiple gasps.

The blood had drained from Jenny's face, and her glare morphed into a look of shellshock before quickly going back to glaring. This one more..._ferocious_, and yet she'd still been able to retain the look that made it seem as if he'd sucker punched her.

He'd just been _so confused._

_'Was it something he said,' _he'd thought. By the looks of the team, and the glare Jenny was directing at him it was as if he'd just cussed her out or something.

"What did you just call me?" She'd whispered, and that question had just confused him even more.

"...Your name?...," he'd said, arching an eyebrow. Granted he should've called her Director, but she _had_ told him he could call her by her first name.

Sharply, as if regaining herself, she'd snapped her case file closed. And pushing past him, she swept her back up the staircase, sharply.

"Jen?" he'd asked, if she was going back to her office wasn't she going to miss her meeting with SecNav?

"Don't call me _that_," she'd hissed, turning back when she was on the landing above theirs. Looking as if she'd been about to the throw the case file _and _her briefcase at him.

He'd just stared at her confused, throwing his hands out in front of him in exasperation. She _had _said he could call her by her first name.

But he'd been staring at her back again as she fled.

He turned towards the bullpen and had been met with a mixture of looks; glares, exasperation, and expressions that were just as confused as he'd been. And there were only _four _people there.

Michelle didn't count.

He'd thrown his arms wide, as if praying someone would tell him what he'd said wrong. Ziva, had been glaring at him like she'd like to kill him with her bare hands. McGee, had looked just as confused as he'd been. Abby, had been sporting a mix between Ziva and McGee's looks. And strangely enough it had been Ducky with his look of extreme exasperation, who had made the first move.

He'd walked towards Tony, around the divider so he could look the man in the eye better.

"What did I say?...What did I call her?" He'd asked, and vaguely he'd registered the way his voice had sounded, and had hated it. It sounded like he'd..._given up._

With wise old eyes and a hung head Ducky with his scratchy voice and his Brittish accent had said, "Anthony, you called her..._Jen..._"

And suddenly the apocalyptic state of the people around him had made sense. And he had had the sudden urge to give himself a headslap.

Because _he _had called her Jen.

* * *

Now here he was, standing back in the antechamber with Cynthia staring at him.

Just staring at him, expecting him to move towards the doors.

Emboldened with the annoyance he felt towards..._everything _today, he took off with renewed vigor towards her office doors. He didn't think about the consequences of what he was about to do, because all he could think about was the fact that he'd screwed up. And technically, with any _normal _person this wouldn't have been a screw up, but no one ever said anyone employed at NCIS could ever be called normal.

So instead of stopping and knocking like he usually did, he barged through the doors. The dull sound of the door ricocheting off the wall made him jump slightly. Yet, the redhead at the desk stayed impenetrable, leaning back in her office chair the high back made her look so tiny. The sparkly red glasses perched on her aristocrat nose made her look delicate.

The stiffness in her posture, the glass of bourbon her slim fingers were wrapped around, the arch in her eyebrow, and her overall _aura_. Made all of those claims irrelevant, because with those notices Anthony DiNozzo was reminded of the fact that even if Jennifer Shepard was small in posture, she was anything but delicate.

"You didn't knock," she accused him in a hiss.

"I didn't," he admitted.

"Go back out, and knock on the door. Wait for me to answer," she growled out in her best 'Director' tone.

Yes Jennifer Shepard wasn't delicate, but she was apparently pissed at him.

Even though he was sure his ears were pink tipped with withheld embarrassment, he figured the fact that she was holding a glass of bourbon wasn't a good sign and decided to concede to her wishes.

...Or...more like her _demands_.

So he did an 180 and walked back to Cynthia's area, pulling Jenny's office door closed with him. Doing another 180, he promptly turned his back on Cynthia and knocked once on the metallic doors.

He waited.

After a moment of silence he heard a faintly muffled, _hesitant_, "Come in."

Walking back into Jenny's office he tried to decide on the what's and the how's. What was going _on_...what he needed to _say_..._how_ he needed to act..._how _he was going to be able to control his anger over this.

Closing the door behind him again, he went back to stand in his original position in front of her desk. Only this time she wasn't sitting in her throne, she was over at the cabinet she kept her drinks in.

The decanter of bourbon glittered in the dying sunlight as it set over the harbor.

He'd seen the amount of alcohol Jenny had been drinking lately, though he was almost positive that he didn't know the _full _amount of drinking she'd been doing lately. And he was fairly positive that he didn't want to know. Didn't want to know that or the normal amount she'd drank before _he'd _left. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to turn a blind eye to it.

Besides it wasn't like she could actually drink more than _he'd _drank.

"What's got your panties in a twist," he was almost 100 percent sure that he was flirting with death by saying this. But she didn't like the other way he'd been acting so the only other way he could act was Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo.

Adult College Frat Boy Extraordinaire.

"Watch your mouth," she warned, refilling her glass.

And so the games began.

* * *

"Getting drunk in the middle of the name, Jen." He goaded trying to get a reaction out of her.

Turning back around, she leaned back against the cabinet. Her hands reaching behind her, she slammed her tumbler down violently, enough so that he could see the liquor sloshing over the rim behind her.

"I told you. Don't. Call. Me. _That_." She hissed.

"What? Your first name? I do believe you told me I could call you by it?" He smarted off to her.

In response she stiffened even more and looked like she was about to launch herself at him. He knew she was pissed as hell, but so was he.

"Why don't you want me to call you that? Hmmmm?" He added when no response was forthcoming.

He moved forward.

"You know, everybody expected me to take over _his _duties when _he _left. Even you," he scoffed at her disparaging look.

He took another step forward.

"I'm suppose to lead the team. Keep Abby calm, and make sure Ducky has his best friend back. And in the processes I'm suppose to maintain his perfect closure rate."

Another step forward, they were less than five feet apart now.

Still she glared silently at him.

"While somehow doing undercover for you. On a mission that seems less and less sanctioned everyday."

Her eye twitched, and he stilled.

"Everybody wants me to be _him_, and the team-at least they let me get away with doing it for them. Granted they call me out on it, but they don't stop me from bringing Caf-Pow's to Abby, or telling McGee that he did a good job."

She tensed, and now more than ever before in her presence-he feared for his own safety. He knew he should stop now, but he was just so damn _tired _of it all.

So he said,

"Even you want me to be _him_. If _he _were here, if _he _didn't ask to many questions, then it would be _him _working this..._vendetta _with you."

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she didn't understand how he could simply _see _these things.

"Oh yea," he threw his head back with a mirthless chuckle, "I see the way you look at me. You wish it was _him _that was doing this with you. You want _him _back, and yet you won't let me be _him_. Like you so desperately want!"

That was when she struck.

He knew he should've been used to how fast she could move in those skyscraper heels of hers, yet she still took him by surprise. Before he could register it, his spine was being rammed into the edge of the conference table, and her nails were digging into his shoulders.

Barely having to look down much, there-right in his face-was a spitting redhead.

For a moment he thought she was going to kiss him. Then when that clearly wasn't the case he entertained the thought of kissing her. But, that hadn't gone over so well last time...

So instead he delivered his final blow.

"You don't want me to call you _Jen_, because that's what _he _calls you."

She wanted him to be better at undercover work. She wanted him to lead the team. Wanted him to be able to keep Ducky and Abby in check. Wanted him to be able to hold the weight of the world on his shoulder, and yet look like it was nothing in the process.

She wanted him; to drink coffee like an addict, have a basement and build boats in it, wear dark polo's instead of Armani, be the one that got her hooked on that amber alcohol, be six-feet tall and have silver hair.

She wanted him to be _him_.

And yet; him getting her coffee resulted in a wasted coffee because he got the wrong blend, trying to take risk on this _'mission' _got him yelled at for putting the mission in jeopardy, even putting a hand on her lower back put more distance between them, trying to kiss her got a polite rebuttal, and he couldn't call her _Jen_.

It was the final blow for the both of them.

She leaned up a little, her nails digging in deeper and her lips by his ear.

"My title is Director Jennifer Shepard of NCIS. My first name is Jennifer, shortened-Jenny," she paused, "there is nothing after Jenny. And if I hear that word come out of your mouth one more time, your badge will be on my desk faster than you can say _'I quit'_.

Leaning back off her tiptoes, she looked him in the eyes. Her stare icy cold and emotionless, he was getting more and more used to seeing that look in her eye the past few months.

She whipped around, snatching up her briefcase, and-surprisingly steady considering the amount of bourbon she'd consumed-walked to the door. Where she paused, hand on the doorknob.

Without turning around she issued one last warning, "I expect you out of my office by the time I return, Agent DiNozzo."

With those last words, she was gone, whipping out the door with only the parting flash of red to indicate that she was leaving. But that was fine with Tony, any longer with her in this state of mind, and he would've most certainly said or done more things that he would later regret.

His head tilted back, and he let out a huff of breath.

His chest felt tight.

So...she threatened him with his job. Somehow that threat seemed more serious and more deadly than the multiple threats of keelhauling he'd heard come out of her mouth.

Only problem was...he didn't care.

It would be like his own small form of rebellion. When she wasn't around, he'd shorten the name _Jenny _all he wanted to. And he'd keep doing it, if only to see how far he could push her.

Still things couldn't keep going on like they were. He'd lost track of how many times he'd told-_promised _himself that things would change lately. Then-sooner or later-something would be said, or she'd do something. Someone would _need _him.

And it was like this poisonous little worm would make it's wake back in his brain. Making him think that he was superman, or that he was _him_.

Then the process would start all over.

But there was the problem, he wasn't superman. The only person he knew of-besides Clark Kent-who was superman, was Gibbs.

And he wasn't _him_.

His head rolled on his shoulders, eyes locked on the door. Where the root of his problems had just fled.

Jenny wanted him to be Gibbs.

But..._Jeanne _didn't. Jeanne, just wanted him to be Tony DiNardo. The man he said he was.

Maybe he _could_ be Tony DiNardo.

At least for a little while-until the cycle started up all over again.

* * *

_A/N: I'm through with this, I have one more story planned for this little 'series'._

_Didn't like. Don't review it._


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